


From Almost to Always

by fractalgeometry



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Communication, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Pining, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Aziraphale (Good Omens), Touch-Starved Crowley (Good Omens), hand-holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 10:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27349540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalgeometry/pseuds/fractalgeometry
Summary: They stopped Armageddon. They survived their trials. They were, Crowley was pretty sure, as close to free as they would ever get.And yet nothing seemed to change.~After Armageddon, Aziraphale and Crowley can objectively do anything they want. It turns out to be harder than that. Howdoyou change centuries of habit built to protect you and the one you love most? The answer it seems, is “slowly and cautiously”.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 166
Kudos: 186





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Na chwilę, na zawsze](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28791729) by [aveneris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveneris/pseuds/aveneris)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an idea I had a little while ago, and have so far written around two and a half chapters. After those I’ll be posting new chapters as I write them, so we’ll get to see the story unfold together! (I do have a general outline of what is going to happen, but the details will be a surprise to us all.) This is tagged with “angst” exclusively because Crowley has decided to overthink literally everything for the first while, but I plan to have it be, for the most part, fluffy. 
> 
> So here is the first chapter.

They stopped Armageddon. They survived their trials. They were, Crowley was pretty sure, as close to free as they would ever get. 

And yet nothing seemed to change. 

They went to the Ritz, and they ate, and drank, and Crowley mostly didn’t jump at shadows, and Aziraphale looked almost relaxed. They stayed so long that Crowley began to wonder if he wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to go back out into the world. Here, in this restaurant that neither of them had been anywhere near during the events of the past few days, he could almost feel like everything was normal. 

He supposed he shouldn’t want “normal” anymore. After all, so many of the changes were for the better, if he could only wrap his head around them. Armageddon had been stopped, truly and completely. Heaven and Hell were both sufficiently afraid of him and Aziraphale that it seemed likely they wouldn’t have trouble from that quarter for centuries at least. He should be happy. Yet all he was feeling was a steadily increasing thread of anxiety. 

Aziraphale sipped his wine, eyes roaming the room. The look of relieved relaxation that he had worn at the beginning of the afternoon was beginning to wear off, leaving his more typical look of wariness. Crowley was briefly glad for the familiarity, then instantly regretted even thinking such a thing. He wanted Aziraphale to be calm and happy. The angel deserved it, more than deserved it. 

He resisted the urge to slam his hand down on the table. Why wouldn’t his thoughts shut up? Why couldn’t he accept these good things that somehow, _somehow,_ they had managed to snatch? 

Aziraphale drained his glass and set it down before folding his napkin and placing it back on the table. 

“Shall we get the bill, then?” he asked. He sounded as though he was continuing a conversation, but Crowley was fairly certain neither of them had spoken in at least fifteen minutes. He was equally certain (that being almost-but-not-quite) that he wasn’t drunk enough to be forgetting a conversation he was in the middle of. 

Whatever had come before the question, though, it had been asked now, and Aziraphale probably wanted an answer. Thing was, Crowley _didn’t_ want to get the bill. He didn’t want to go back to the bookshop, with its ghosts of flames, didn’t want to go back to his flat, with its memories of Hastur’s screams. He didn’t want to do anything, really, except stay in this little bubble they had created around their table at the Ritz, where everything else was outside and it felt almost like he could keep it there, if they never moved.

He couldn’t, of course, and they had to move eventually. So instead of saying any of what he was thinking, he made a noise of agreement and gestured for the bill.

~

Crowley drove them to the bookshop. They sat in the car for a long moment after they parked, not speaking, not looking at each other. Crowley waited for Aziraphale to get out, thank him for the lovely afternoon and disappear into his miraculously intact bookshop for the next week. 

Instead Aziraphale said, almost hesitantly, “Won’t you come inside? I’m sure I have something nice to drink.”

Crowley didn’t answer immediately. He looked across Aziraphale, at the bookshop just across the sidewalk. He had been inside it only this morning, pacing the floor, looking for changes, almost baffled by how undamaged it all was. 

He had been in the bookshop yesterday, too. He didn’t want to think about the bookshop yesterday. 

He brought his gaze back, looked at Aziraphale. He didn’t want to leave Aziraphale’s company just yet, either. He never wanted to leave Aziraphale’s company, really. Might just stay forever, given the chance. The thought pinged a certain part of his mind instantly, the part that reminded him that such a thing was out of his reach, not even worth thinking about. 

Another part suggested that maybe it wasn’t so impossible, given recent developments. He pushed both thoughts aside, not ready to think about them. Drinks in the bookshop. That’s all he had to consider right now. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said, and opened the car door. 

~

Drinking with Aziraphale in the back of the bookshop was the most normal thing that had happened all week. If Crowley focused only on the wine, and the angel in the chair across from him, he could almost pretend that none of it had happened. That shadows of flame weren’t dancing in the back of his mind, and images of Gabriel’s face were far away. He could almost pretend it was all normal.

Normal, yeah, like that had been much good either. Like he _wanted_ to be sitting here and worrying that this time would be the time an archangel would drop in unannounced, or a demon had been set to follow him and was even now gleefully reporting on his meeting with an angel to Beelzebub.

Only...there was something to be said for familiarity. 

Familiarity was what pushed him off the sofa some hours past midnight, old, well-worn excuses slipping past his lips. Familiarity was what kept Aziraphale’s near-immediate agreement from stinging, what carried him out the door even though a part of him was shrieking not to go, that Aziraphale might not be here when he came back.

A third thing, something he wasn’t sure what to call, was what made him notice the slight disappointment on Aziraphale’s face, what suggested he could stay, just a bit longer, maybe always, maybe he’d never have to let Aziraphale out of his sight again. 

It had been a long week.

Familiarity was a strong thing.

~

Crowley paced up and down the hallway, unable to settle. He’d tried watching television, but all the news channels seemed intent on discussing whatever the humans remembered of the last few days, and he’d barely lasted twenty minutes. He’d tried standing on the balcony and staring moodily at the city, but that rapidly got boring. Then he tried terrorizing the plants, but it had only been a few days since his last shouting spree, and they hadn’t had time to get complacent, so that was over almost before it began.

He stopped walking and stared out the window. The sun was descending already, its angle showing late afternoon. He fixed his eyes on a single cloud and tried to forcibly relax his shoulders. He was all right. Aziraphale was all right. They’d seen each other barely twelve hours ago, and there was no reason Crowley needed to go back to the bookshop just yet. 

The phantom sound of the doorknob turning rang in his ears. The memory of haunting, malicious voices calling his name echoed off the walls. He turned and strode briskly toward the front door, finding it locked and intact, the inner hall devoid of unwelcome demons. 

_All demons are unwelcome,_ his mind reminded him unhelpfully. _By definition._

He didn’t fight the thought. What was the point? What was the point of anything?

He did run his hands along the door, checking the latch, then the fit in the frame. Though, really, what was the point of that either? As if locks could keep him safe any more than anything else. 

Aziraphale seemed to think Hell would leave him alone, though, and Crowley had to admit that being seen happily splashing around in a tub of holy water would probably do wonders for any demon’s reputation. It might, possibly, be enough to keep anyone from trying to face off against him for a little while. 

He sighed and _thunked_ his head against the door, closing his eyes. And where did that kind of thinking get you, in Hell? That kind of _complacency?_ It got you attacked, that’s what it got you. Maybe stripped of your position, maybe challenged to a “duel” that quickly turned into a ten-on-one fight. It wasn’t the kind of thing Crowley liked to risk.

He pulled his head back and glared at the door, sitting so innocent and intact in front of him, as though it hadn’t betrayed him only two days before. Come to think of it, why had he never thought to remedy the fact that his flat had only one door? First rule of contingency plans, have a back door. Maybe it was time to move. Find somewhere new, where no one except him and a few humans had ever set foot. 

His thoughts drifted, unguided, back to Aziraphale. Aziraphale, who was probably at this very moment sitting in his bookshop, doing something with some book or other. He wondered, briefly, if Aziraphale was thinking about him, then dismissed the idea. That was the kind of thought that led very quickly down unhelpful paths. 

Only...now that he was back on the topic of Aziraphale, he couldn’t just get off of it. Images of the bookshop in flames lodged in his mind, coupled with the sinking, gnawing feeling of being _too late._ If something happened...if Crowley didn’t find out until afterwards…

He was turning the door handle before he had consciously told himself to. He didn’t have to go in, or even let Aziraphale know he was there. He could just drive by, see that everything was all right, and leave. No one would notice. Cars drove through Soho all the time. 

There was no smoke in the sky as he neared the bookshop. He slowed as he passed it, scanning for signs of anything untoward, but there was nothing out of place, and a reassuring aura of Aziraphale emanated from inside. He sped up again, torn between relief that Aziraphale was all right and anger at himself for even bothering to check. 

“There,” he muttered out loud. “See? Nothing wrong. Time to go home.”

He turned right. Then he turned right again. 

Nothing had changed the second time he passed the bookshop, for all that he strained his senses, searching for something, anything out of place. He sped up faster this time, rocketing down the street and turning blindly into the heart of London. _Fine, he’s fine, you’re fine, everything’s fine, just go home already._

He wove aimlessly around the streets, speeding through at least one red light if only to prove he could, taking turns nearly at random. He only went the wrong way down a one-way street once — that he noticed — but told himself it was only another demonic deed of the day. Not that he had to do demonic deeds of the day anymore, probably. But old habits die hard, and all that.

The third time he passed the bookshop, he thought he saw Aziraphale at the window. He nearly stopped the car and went to say hello, but thought better of it just in time.

“Do I need,” he asked himself, “to list the reasons that that’s a bad idea?”

He drove a solid fifty kilometers over the speed limit all the way back to his flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s chapter one! Leave a comment if you have anything to say; I love every one. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley lifted his hand and laid his fingers on top of Aziraphale’s. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favorite chapter so far (out of two whole chapters, I know, but it's _good_ ). I really like it, and I’m looking forward to hearing what you all think.

Aziraphale reached out first. Crowley found himself speechless, holding the phone to his ear, completely at a loss for how to respond to Aziraphale’s hesitant  _ I thought we might get dinner. _

It wasn’t that Aziraphale had never invited him out for dinner, or over to the bookshop, or any one of the other things they liked to do together. The strange thing was that it hadn’t even been three days. Crowley had been completely, utterly, positively sure that he was the only one who would even consider extending such an invitation so soon after another outing, and had, accordingly, refrained from even touching the phone, for fear that he’d accidentally do such a thing.

Only now  _ Aziraphale _ was asking, and Crowley had exactly no willpower available to decline. And really, why shouldn’t they go out for a meal twice in one week? They were retired, out of a job, no one to answer to. If Aziraphale wanted to go out again, there was nothing stopping them. 

“Sure,” he said. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

“Oh, lovely!” Aziraphale sounded honestly delighted. “There’s a lovely Italian place I’ve been wanting to go, with a courtyard.”

“Sounds good.” Crowley hesitated briefly. “Shall I come by to pick you up?”

“That would be wonderful, dear. Around six?”

“Sure.”

~

Crowley pulled up in front of the bookshop shortly after six and tapped four quick beats on the horn. It was tempting to just get out and stick his head inside, but some old, ingrained habit kept him in his seat. It was just...too soon. It was only Wednesday, for something’s sake. He’d been there on Sunday. 

Before he could get too wound up in thoughts, Aziraphale appeared in the door. Crowley watched him close and lock it, glide down the steps, and step into the car. 

“Hello, Crowley,” he said, smiling.

“Hey, angel.” Crowley was pretty sure he was smiling too, and couldn’t be bothered to stop. It was so good to see Aziraphale, whole and well and smiling and settling into Crowley’s car, where Crowley could keep an eye on him and watch for danger and-

Crowley blinked and stopped that train of thought short. Aziraphale was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Crowley had never doubted that. There was no reason he always had to have Aziraphale in sight.

_ Except that it grounds you, _ something in his mind murmured.  _ Except that you’re breathing more deeply now than you have all day. Except that when he’s here you feel safer- _

And that was enough of that. Crowley flashed a grin at the angel in the passenger seat. “Shall we?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, already gripping the door firmly. “Only not at those racing speeds of yours.”

Crowley turned out into traffic, ignoring the last request, as was customary. Aziraphale’s definition of “racing speeds” seemed to be “faster than a horse”, and Crowley was thoroughly uninterested in having anything to do with horses, including speed. 

They reached the restaurant in just under nine minutes, and Crowley made sure to park directly on top of one of the parking lines. Aziraphale gave him an obligatory disapproving look, but stepped out of the car without comment. 

The courtyard, Crowley had to admit, was nice. The floor was tiled, and vines grew up trellises around the edges, as well as a few scattered throughout the middle. The wine was good, the food was fresh, and Crowley found himself feeling more relaxed than he had all week. Come to think of it, maybe since he’d been given a basket with a baby in it eleven years ago.

Which, of course, was when he had to go and ruin it. Not that it was entirely his fault, of course. Although it certainly wasn’t  _ Aziraphale’s _ fault. And it wasn’t bad, really. Probably. Maybe.

What happened was simple. Terrifyingly simple, in fact. Crowley’s hand was lying on the table, perfectly normally, while he waved a wineglass with the other, talking about something or other. Aziraphale was nodding along, laying down his fork and reaching out to flick a crumb off the tablecloth.

And then he left his hand there. On the table, perhaps three centimeters from Crowley’s.

Crowley, who had been winding up his monologue at that point anyway, trailed off and looked at Aziraphale’s hand.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice. He took a sip of his own wine and started in on his own thoughts on whatever it was they were talking about. 

Crowley  _ hmm _ ed vaguely and continued staring at their hands. So close, so  _ very, very _ close. It would be easy to move his hand across that distance and touch Aziraphale’s. 

So he did, lifting his hand and laying his fingers on top of Aziraphale’s. 

Aziraphale froze, words cutting off so fast that even without listening to what he was saying, Crowley knew he had stopped in the middle of a sentence. Instantly, Crowley’s mind turned on  _ abort everything _ mode, and he snatched his hand back, grasping blindly for the nearest utensil — a spoon — and scooping up some of the food on his plate. 

“So,” he said, and damn it, his voice sounded nearly as thrown as he felt. “About wombats, huh? Awfully interesting, wombats.”

Aziraphale’s face very clearly indicated that this was not, in fact, what they had been talking about. After another moment’s pause, though, he picked up the conversational bowling ball Crowley had just flung at his head and began to move it along.

Crowley’s fingers itched for the rest of the night.

~

It was a week after the apocalypse didn’t happen that they went out to dinner again. Aziraphale had called earlier in the day and suggested a new Pakistani restaurant that he’d been wanting to try, and Crowley had had to work very hard not to sound  _ too _ eager. So what if all Aziraphale wanted was more of what they’d been doing for so many years? Crowley was happy to simply go out with the angel multiple times a week, if that’s how things worked now. 

Only, now Aziraphale was laying his hand on the table again, almost  _ taunting _ Crowley with how easy it would be to reach out and grab. Crowley was pretty sure no hands had the right to look that holdable. But the feeling of Aziraphale going completely still the last time was stuck in his mind, and Crowley would be damned all over again before he did something he knew would make Aziraphale uncomfortable.

Aziraphale’s hand moved away then, and the conversation moved on. Crowley got so distracted that he forgot all about the topic. By the time he was in the middle of a tangent about sand dunes and how slippery they were, he had dropped one of his own hands to the table again while he gestured with the other.

Then something warm brushed the back of his hand, and he jumped, pulling it back before he realized that the warm thing had been  _ Aziraphale’s _ hand. Which was still lying on the table where Crowley’s had been a moment before, while its owner looked at Crowley with wide eyes and a mouth opening to apologize.

Crowley did a lot of very rapid thinking. He was pretty sure Aziraphale had touched him first this time, a conclusion supported by the angel’s current facial expression and the fact that he hadn’t moved his hand back to his side of the table yet. Which meant that now Crowley was the one who looked like he didn’t want the touch, and that was unacceptable. 

Crowley fixed his gaze firmly on one of the fabric wall hangings and, carefully, laid his hand down next to Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale didn’t move away. He didn’t speak, either. 

After a moment, Crowley extended his little finger slightly, so that his knuckle brushed Aziraphale’s. 

Neither of them moved.

Then Aziraphale, without so much as twitching the hand touching Crowley’s, said, “More tea, dear?” and picked up the teapot in his free hand.

Crowley brought his eyes back to the table.

“Sure,” he said, and his voice sounded a little scratchy. 

Aziraphale refilled his cup, then took a bite of his curry, seeming to savor the flavor longer than he had been. Crowley reached awkwardly for his teacup, almost afraid of moving wrong and destroying whatever tentative balance had allowed this. 

Finally Aziraphale spoke, something inconsequential about a book he’d rediscovered somewhere on his shelves. Crowley responded with something conversationally appropriate, watching Aziraphale intently for signs of discomfort, but the angel showed none. 

Eventually Crowley relaxed a little, letting himself settle into the conversation. Aziraphale, as far as he could tell, did the same.

Somehow, Aziraphale’s little finger stayed lightly pressed against Crowley’s for the rest of the night. 

Maybe some things were changing after all. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today we get more contemplation of life, and change, and a little more inching towards new ideas. Enjoy.

Crowley paced for a long time that night. So long, in fact, that the sun rose before he bothered to sit down. It wasn’t that anything  _ bad _ had happened. He just had no idea how to deal with this new — and terrifyingly welcome — change.

Change. Why did this change make him so nervous?  _ He _ certainly wanted it. He was fairly certain, based on Aziraphale’s demeanor the night before, that Aziraphale did too. And yet every time he poked at the idea of talking about it, or making some of the other changes that had crossed his mind, some base part of his mind screamed  _ no stop abort _ and, without fail, he listened to it. 

Not for the first time, he wished that he had never been given that  _ damn _ basket with that  _ damn _ baby. 

No. No, he didn’t wish that, did he? This way, he got to keep the enjoyable parts of his life while throwing out the unpleasant. Even standing on the precipice of new, unknown experiences, he didn’t quite want to walk backwards into the familiar warren that his life had always been. He just wished he had a map, that was all. 

Okay, he might be taking the metaphor too far now. Time to retrace his steps.

Damn it. 

~

Crowley did find a new equilibrium of sorts. It consisted of focusing solely on whatever was happening at any given moment and not, under any circumstances, considering what might be, what could be, or what new things he might want. This plan got him through three more dinners and one evening at the bookshop with Aziraphale. During two of the dinners, there was light hand-to-hand contact, which they studiously did not discuss. The evening at the bookshop was (objectively) completely normal. Crowley couldn’t decide whether this was good or torturous.

The second time around, there was no question that it was torturous.

It was just over two weeks now since the world had been forcibly stopped from ending by a terrifyingly stubborn small boy. Crowley had spent the majority of that time running in repeating circles of thoughts, all of them related to life and death and change and friendship and angels and demons and any number of other things he had gotten very good at not thinking about over the course of his long life. An annoying thing about life-altering experiences, he was finding, was that they seemed to make you contemplate life. Crowley did not want to contemplate life.

This was part of why he had decided to get so drunk. It’s hard to contemplate anything with any modicum of seriousness when you’re drunk, and Aziraphale was right there to help keep an eye out for him.

Not that he needed Aziraphale to keep an eye out for him.

Crowley took another drink. 

Somewhere around one in the morning, Aziraphale got out of his chair. Crowley readied himself to leave, but Aziraphale walked off to the kitchen without saying a word. Crowley frowned vaguely after him, frown deepening minutely as he heard the sounds of water running and metal clanging. This wasn’t in the script.

He considered getting up and leaving of his own accord, but curiosity seemed to be winning out over habit, so he remained in his spot on the sofa, sipping at his drink and listening, mildly puzzled, to the sounds coming from the kitchen. 

It was nearly fifteen minutes before Aziraphale emerged, carrying two mugs. Walking up to the sofa, he handed one to Crowley, walked to the other end of the sofa, and sat down.

Crowley stared. 

Aziraphale, apparently completely unaware of what he had just done, sipped at whatever was in his mug. 

Crowley continued to stare. After a minute, he managed to make his brain run through what had just happened. It was one in the morning. Instead of ending the evening, Aziraphale had made them-

He tore his eyes from the angel on the far end of the sofa and sniffed the contents of his newly acquired mug. Tea. 

Instead of ending the evening, Aziraphale had made them — both of them! — tea. He had then come back out and sat on the sofa. With Crowley. 

Crowley was very, very certain that none of this was in the script. 

After another moment of study, he noticed that Aziraphale had hardly moved since he sat down. Most importantly, he hadn’t even begun to look at Crowley. 

Maybe Aziraphale wasn’t so unaware of how out of the ordinary this whole thing was after all. 

Crowley could mention it. He could ask why, or just make a questioning observation. He could try to get them somewhere on talking about one of the things that seemed to be rattling around in both of their minds. 

Instead, he took a sip of his tea — after putting his wineglass on the floor — and stared silently off into the bookshelves.

It wasn’t quite a  _ comfortable _ silence. But it wasn’t awkward either.

~

Crowley spent the next several days trying to convince himself the whole thing was a drunken hallucination. He wasn’t sure  _ why _ he was doing it, only that some part of him that feared Heaven and Hell and Aziraphale’s disappointed look was ruthlessly stamping all over the tendrils of curiosity and hope that were trying to wake up. 

And that was the real thing, wasn’t it? It wasn’t that he couldn’t imagine things changing. It was that every time he tried to be open to it, some other part of him shut down and backpedaled so far he couldn’t even remember what he’d been trying to do in the first place. 

Crowley had many habits, the majority of them in place to keep himself, Aziraphale, or both of them safe, and those habits were refusing to believe they weren’t needed anymore. There was no room for error in the world he’d created those habits in, no elbow room for what could be finagled in around them. He could pay attention to them and be safe, or he could ignore them and not be. 

Only he hadn’t accounted for the end of the world. And he certainly hadn’t accounted for what came  _ after _ the end of the world, because there had been no reason to believe there would be an after. Definitely not an after worth wanting. Or an after where he could make his own decisions. 

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Aziraphale had those habits too. The ones that made him suggest Crowley leave after an evening at the bookshop, that said blatantly false things like  _ we’re not friends, _ that kept him looking over his shoulder for someone watching, waiting to pounce if he stepped out of line.

The more he thought about it, the more he wondered whether Aziraphale had spent any of the past two weeks pacing and contemplating change like this. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. 

Life certainly never stopped being complicated.

~

Aziraphale greeted him with the soft, pleased smile that always made Crowley’s stomach do a happy flip. Crowley grinned back and sauntered past him, circling the columns a time or two before kicking off his shoes and settling himself on the sofa, legs extending out along its length. Aziraphale followed sedately, set a bottle and two glasses on the side table, and sat down in the small section of sofa that Crowley wasn’t currently occupying. 

Crowley blinked. Not a drunken hallucination, then. In fact, he was quite sure neither of them were anywhere close to drunk enough for this. He wasn’t, anyway. Unfortunately, he couldn’t come up with any way to get a drink without breaking the silence that was probably the only reason that any of this was happening. 

Aziraphale, apparently, had no such worries. He picked up the bottle, filled the glasses, and turned to Crowley, holding one out. Crowley automatically pulled his legs back, dropped his feet to the floor, and leaned forward to take it. 

The evening progressed relatively normally from there, conversation flowing as naturally as it always did for them. At some point Crowley’s feet migrated back up to the sofa, and he didn’t move them off again. 

Later still, during a sleepy lull in the conversation, he screwed up his courage and slid a little further down until his toe touched Aziraphale’s knee. For a split second, Aziraphale went very still. Then, before Crowley could reconsider his life choices yet again, Aziraphale had switched his wineglass to his right hand and dropped his left to rest on top of Crowley’s foot. 

Now Crowley went still. He breathed in slowly, then out just as slowly. Aziraphale’s hand felt impossibly heavy. 

Aziraphale looked at him questioningly. He wasn’t pulling away, not when Crowley had started it, but he was clearly asking.

Crowley pushed his toes more firmly into Aziraphale’s leg in answer. After a moment Aziraphale pressed his hand against Crowley’s foot, and, still looking at Crowley, ran his thumb across the demon’s toes.

Crowley’s breath stuck in his throat. There was very little plausible deniability left in that motion. So little, in fact, that it was ringing all sorts of alarm bells in those habits and rules and understandings that kept house in his brain. Only...the touch was  _ good. _ Underneath the alarm bells there was something else, something that wanted to stretch out a little further and see if Aziraphale would do it again, something that felt warm and tight and shivery and  _ curious. _

The alarm bells rang louder.

Crowley jerked his foot back.

“I better go,” he said. His voice was rough.

Aziraphale’s face fell, and Crowley hated himself for it. He couldn’t un-say the words, though, nor could he manage any of the other ones that danced through his mind, wonderful and terrifying and just out of reach. Instead he dropped his feet to the floor, miracling his shoes back on (cold and hard and constricting, nothing like Aziraphale’s warm touch), and standing up.

“It  _ is _ late,” Aziraphale agreed from behind him, but Crowley thought there was something in his voice too, some emotion Crowley couldn’t — or didn’t want to — name. 

“See you later,” he said to distract himself.

“See you later,” Aziraphale echoed, and oh, there was definitely something there, something Crowley could pay attention to if he only let himself, if he could hear past the tumult of thoughts.

The alarm bells rang again, mixed inexorably with the feeling of Aziraphale’s hand on his foot, on his hand, so close, so new, so frighteningly interesting.

Crowley strode out of the bookshop into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me very happy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have probably my new favorite chapter. Contains hand-holding, feelings, and even a bit of actual communication.

Aziraphale sat on the sofa and tried very hard not to feel like he had made a terrible mistake. Things had been going so well. He was fairly certain they’d established a mutual interest in some sort of increase in physical contact — Crowley had reached out first several times, including tonight, after all — and Aziraphale didn’t think he’d done anything  _ too _ outlandish just now. But the fact remained that something had sent Crowley running in the space of a few minutes, and there were very few potential culprits. 

_ See you later _ echoed in his ears. Crowley wasn’t leaving for good, then. He hadn’t even seemed angry. Just abruptly tense, like he needed to leave  _ right now. _ All right then. Aziraphale would give him a day. That wasn’t too soon, was it? Not by their new schedule, and not when Crowley had just up and left like this.

Aziraphale realized his fingers were worrying at the edge of his coat. He made them stop. Thought after thought tumbled through his head, setting his fingers in motion again.

_ Crowley didn’t seem angry. _

_ Perhaps I ought to pretend it never happened. _

_ What if Gabriel had shown up? _

_ What if he still does? _

_ No, no, they’re going to leave us alone. _

_ But what if- _

Bother. It was going to be a long day. 

~

It wasn’t a long day. Before the sun had done more than turn the sky dark grey, the shop bell jingled and Crowley came into view. He paused when he saw Aziraphale sitting there, not moved from where he had been when Crowley left those few hours ago, then completed his trek, dropping to the other end of the sofa.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said, staring intently at the ceiling. 

Aziraphale blinked. How had Crowley known that was just what he needed to hear?  _ Aziraphale _ hadn’t entirely known that.

“Oh,” he said. When it looked like Crowley wasn’t going to say anything more, he added, “Are you all right?”

Crowley said nothing. Finally he sighed very loudly. “Yeah.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. He hesitated. “I don’t know that I am, entirely.”

Crowley’s head whipped around to look at him. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“No, no!” Aziraphale said hurriedly. “It’s only that everything seems somewhat strange since…”

“Oh,” Crowley said. He looked away. “Guess it has been, a little.”

Aziraphale thought that it had been rather more than “a little” strange, and likewise thought that Crowley was equally aware. Given Crowley’s earlier flight, though, he chose not to say so. Unfortunately, that meant that what came out of his mouth was, “May I hold your hand?”

Almost as soon as he said the words he wished he could take them back. Whatever they had been working towards for the last few weeks, this was going to be too big a jump.

Crowley turned back toward Aziraphale very fast. “Do you  _ want _ to hold my hand?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, because this had never been in doubt. “Very much.”

Crowley stared at him. Then he extended a hand into the space between them. 

Aziraphale took it. 

The touch was tentative, but Aziraphale certainly wasn’t pulling away and Crowley didn’t seem to be either. 

“We can do this now,” Crowley murmured, almost to himself. He was staring at their hands. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. He felt strangely wobbly, like something in his chest was too light to stay there and was knocking his breathing off-kilter. 

Crowley looked back up at Aziraphale’s face. “And- you want to.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said again. 

Crowley’s head dropped abruptly, eyes falling back to their hands lying on the sofa. At the same time his grip tightened until he was squeezing Aziraphale’s hand like it was a rope and he was about to fall off a cliff. 

Aziraphale squeezed back. “About to fall off a cliff” was a reasonably accurate description for how he was feeling, and clinging to Crowley’s hand — that he somehow, amazingly, got to have in his — seemed like just the thing to keep him from pitching over the edge.

~

Aziraphale was holding his hand. Aziraphale was holding his hand and  _ squeezing _ it in a way that left very little room for doubt about whether he wanted to be doing it. Crowley was fairly certain he was on the verge of some sort of breakdown. Everything was just  _ so much, _ and it had been for  _ years, _ and now, for some reason, it was all hitting very hard. 

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut behind his glasses in the hope that might make everything seem less overwhelming, but all it did was focus his attention on the hand that was holding Aziraphale’s, which was overwhelming in and of itself. He opened them again, staring intently at the floor. He wanted, impossibly, to hold on tighter, but at the same time he was fairly sure this was all too much and he was going to combust any minute.

Aziraphale’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Are you all right?”

_ Yeah, _ Crowley tried automatically to say.  _ Fine. _

What came out was definitely not a calm affirmative. He was pretty sure it wasn’t even a word. What was  _ happening? _

He almost yanked his hand back to get his brain under control, but Aziraphale had asked a question, and Crowley had definitely not given a satisfactory answer, and if he pulled away now, Aziraphale would, very understandably, get the wrong idea. 

Aziraphale’s grip loosened a little, reluctantly, and Crowley found words again. 

“Don’t let go.” Then, realizing that he didn’t know what  _ Aziraphale _ wanted, he added, “Unless you want to.”

“I don’t,” Aziraphale said, and his fingers curled around Crowley’s again. 

Crowley scooted a little closer so that his arm didn’t have to be fully extended. As the air moved past his cheeks, he realized they were damp. How had that happened? Was he  _ crying? _ He rubbed the sleeve of his free arm along his cheeks. That was ridiculous.

He heard Aziraphale sniffle next to him and looked over, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale looked a little watery-eyed, but he was smiling. “I don’t know. We make quite the pair, don’t we.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Crowley said, and carefully did not wipe his eyes again. A tear instantly ran down his cheek, and he batted it away. “This is ridiculous.”

Aziraphale smiled wider. “May I hug you?”

_ “Yes,” _ Crowley said, and moved closer. 

Aziraphale put an arm around Crowley’s shoulders and drew him against the angel’s side. He was warm, and his arm was heavy, and a significant part of Crowley wanted to just curl deeper into the embrace and possibly never come out. 

Then the alarm bells started up again, and he tensed, trying in vain to block out the refrain of  _ not safe not safe not safe _ that had decided to interrupt his nice moment. He shivered and pushed the thoughts away, only to have them push back, harder. Loud, his thoughts were loud, and the touch was loud, and he needed- he couldn’t-

He shoved clumsily out of Aziraphale’s arms — and off the sofa — and stood there for a second, trying to compute where to go. The alarms said  _ run, go away, don’t let anyone catch you here, don’t go off guard. _ Another part of his mind, the one that wanted to be as close to Aziraphale as he could, reminded him of how worried and vaguely forlorn the angel had looked when Crowley returned earlier. He wouldn’t make that happen again.

Crowley closed his eyes and tried to make the alarms turn off.

“Are you- are you all right?” Aziraphale asked. He sounded cautious, and a little worried, and a little overwhelmed. 

Crowley nodded, keeping his eyes closed. He really ought to explain himself at least a little, he realized, just to keep Aziraphale from blaming himself or something equally ridiculous. 

“It’s just a lot,” he said, feeling foolish. “I don’t know.”

“Neither do I,” Aziraphale said. “Maybe we should hold off on the hugging for now.”

Crowley heard that  _ for now, _ grabbed hold of it, and filed it carefully away among his most important memories. Out loud he said, “Yeah. Okay.”

“Will you sit down?” Aziraphale asked hesitantly. “I don’t- I can go back to my chair if we need.”

“No,” Crowley said. He opened his eyes and sat down. “Stay.”

There was a long silence. Aziraphale broke it. “Should I not have-”

“It’s fine,” Crowley interrupted. “You’re fine.” He sighed. “I’m being stupid.”

“You are not,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley picked up the end cushion that was next to him and squeezed it violently to his chest. He closed his eyes again.

Some time later, when the fear had started to recede, he opened them and looked around. Aziraphale was sitting very upright at the other end of the sofa, staring across the room. Crowley mentally kicked himself. He’d hurt Aziraphale’s feelings. Again.

“It’s not you,” he said.

Aziraphale looked at him. “You know I’m not upset with you, right?”

Crowley blinked. His first thought was  _ duh, _ followed immediately by  _ what,  _ topped off with  _ but-. _ In the end, he didn’t say anything.

Aziraphale seemed to steel himself for something. “It’s just that you’re not the only one who is a little...overwhelmed at the moment.”

Crowley realized his mouth was hanging slightly open. He closed it. “Oh.”

He slid down the sofa until he could reach out with his foot and gently touch it to Aziraphale’s. “Is this okay?”

Aziraphale looked down at their feet, up at the ceiling, and finally back to Crowley’s face. He nodded.

“Okay,” Crowley said, feeling slightly more in control. “You’ll tell me if it’s not?”

Aziraphale nodded again. “You do the same. No more running out on me.”

That was only fair, Crowley thought. He realized he was still holding the cushion, and decided that at this point he might as well keep it. Gave him something to do with his hands. 

They didn’t talk more, but neither of them moved away. Eventually Aziraphale’s hands stopped twisting nervously over and around each other and settled on his stomach. Crowley didn’t relinquish his cushion, but he slowly relaxed against the back of the sofa.

Their feet stayed gently pressed together all night. Somehow, the touch felt less stolen, now. Crowley could wait for Aziraphale. He knew he could. And, wonderfully enough, it seemed that Aziraphale would wait for him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d love to hear what you all think of this one - drop me a comment if you get the chance!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter five has finally allowed itself to be written! I've been doing some wrestling with my plan for this story, which was abstract at best and mostly random thoughts strung together. I do know the overall idea I want to portray, though, so I'm writing from that. When I finally managed to write it, it turns out I do like this chapter, so I hope you guys do too.

“I think- I’m going to go for now,” Crowley said, sometime in the morning. 

He didn’t say  _ should, _ or Aziraphale’s favorite,  _ ought to. _ He didn’t have to go, after all. Aziraphale hadn’t pushed, and no one was going to come check in on them. For once, though, he needed to leave for  _ himself. _ To clear his head. Run through the recent happenings. Squash the low-simmering anxiety that was still there, muttering  _ not safe, not safe, not safe _ on repeat.

Aziraphale’s foot withdrew from Crowley’s, and Crowley instantly missed it. At the same time, his head started to feel a little less confused. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

“Very well,” Aziraphale said, and stood up. “It was a lovely evening. Er, night, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed, because it had been and he needed to make sure Aziraphale knew that.

“Would you...like to get dinner tonight?” Aziraphale asked, slightly hesitantly. “I know you haven’t even left yet, but…”

“Yeah,” Crowley said again, standing up as well. “Good idea. You choose. I’ll pick you up.” Getting dinner meant he could see Aziraphale, but they didn’t have to go back to the bookshop after if his brain hadn’t calmed down.

Aziraphale beamed, and Crowley smiled back, happy to have made his angel happy, happy that they would see each other again soon, and happy that Aziraphale didn’t seem to be upset by Crowley’s departure. “That sounds lovely, dear.”

“Good,” Crowley said, belatedly realizing that his words had gone out the window when the happiness came in.

They stood there for a moment.

“We could...perform a handshake,” Aziraphale suggested.

Crowley nodded before he had even entirely thought it through, and stuck out his hand. Aziraphale grasped it gently. The move ended up as less of a handshake and more of a brief hand _ hold, _ but Crowley certainly wasn’t complaining, and Aziraphale didn’t look unhappy either.

Crowley stepped away. “See you tonight.”

“You will that,” Aziraphale said, and smiled again. 

~

Crowley went straight to the Bentley and collapsed in the front seat. Then he realized he was still right in front of the bookshop and should maybe not sit and mull through his thoughts for hours out where anyone — especially Aziraphale — could see him. It wasn’t that he was worried about what Aziraphale thought of him, really. It was just that Aziraphale might worry, and fuss, and possibly ask what was making Crowley sit in his car with his forehead against the steering wheel.

Speaking of which, he should maybe lift his head. 

The car purred to life around him, and he set his foot on the accelerator, turned the wheel toward the street, and finally lifted his head. The Bentley knew better than to crash into anything he didn’t want her to, but police officers didn’t tend to take kindly to someone being apparently asleep at the wheel. And while Crowley was more than capable of dealing with a few police officers, he really didn’t want to have to deal with anyone at the moment. 

Once in his flat, he dumped himself in his throne and, after a moment’s consideration, propped his feet on the desk and tried to think.

The blank TV screen stared at him from its place on the wall, like it did every time he sat here. Daring him to think too freely, consider his own life in too individual a manner. 

He had left it there, these last few weeks. Even things like changing the layout of his flat felt like too much recently.

Now, though, he felt the memory of Aziraphale’s foot against his, of Aziraphale’s arm around his shoulders, of all the possibilities that were just beginning to open up ahead of him if he could only get his head in place.

He waved a hand irritably at the ominous black screen. It vanished, leaving normal, un-hijackable wall. 

_ See? _ he thought.  _ That wasn’t so hard. _

It hadn’t been, really. Lots of things probably wouldn’t be hard, if he’d stop overthinking them. His brain seemed to think it had to overthink, though. What had that freak-out even  _ been, _ earlier, when Aziraphale hugged him? It had been  _ good. _ He hadn’t wanted to stop, except his stupid brain had kicked on the alarm switch.

He’d said something like that then, hadn’t he? Something about being stupid. And Aziraphale- Aziraphale had said…

_ You are not. _

Well, there was that, then. Aziraphale hadn’t seemed annoyed at any point. Sad, maybe, when Crowley got back from his urgent walk around the neighborhood — and Crowley was still angry with himself for causing that — but not annoyed. He had said something else, too.  _ You’re not the only one who’s overwhelmed. _

Aziraphale got it, Crowley realized, as if for the first time. Aziraphale understood. Aziraphale really  _ was _ probably spending time on similar worries to Crowley. They could do — or not do — things on their own schedule, as long as they listened to each other. Crowley knew he could listen to Aziraphale. The hard part would be giving Aziraphale something to listen to in return. 

He looked at his watch. Plenty of time yet before dinner. He could check in on the plants, find out just where, exactly, he had sent the TV…

First, though, he leaned his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes. Just for a moment.

~

They held hands briefly at dinner. Crowley put his out on the table in easy grabbing distance, and Aziraphale took it, folding his fingers sideways over Crowley’s palm. He let go a few minutes later to cut a bite of food, and after a moment’s consideration, Crowley withdrew his hand. 

The next afternoon, Crowley drove to the bookshop unannounced for the first time since Armageddon. The door was locked, and Crowley made sure to open it noisily, hinges creaking and bell jingling. Aziraphale looked up from his work so quickly that Crowley wondered if he’d been paying any attention at all to it. 

“Crowley,” he said, and smiled.

Crowley took the smile, internalized it, and used it to power his nonchalant walk over to where Aziraphale was sitting. 

“What’s going on?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shrugged, leaning one hand on the edge of the desk. “Thought I’d drop by. Just because I can. You don’t have to stop your work.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale looked briefly puzzled, then pleased. Something tight and knotted in Crowley’s chest let go. “Just coming to spend time here?”

Crowley nodded.

“Because,” Aziraphale continued, as though working through something in his head,. “you can now.”

Crowley nodded again.

Aziraphale turned back to the book lying in front of him on the desk. “You’re more than welcome, dear. Just-” he paused very briefly- “make yourself at home.”

Normally, Crowley would have hardly noticed that phrase. It was just standard hospitality. Today, though, something about the hesitation made him realize that Aziraphale had thought it through more than usual, and had said it anyway. Great. More things they should talk about sometime.

Not now, though. Aziraphale was busy, and Crowley was in no hurry to try putting some of his more Aziraphale-related thoughts into words. They barely made sense in his head. Trying to verbalize them was just asking for trouble. 

He wandered off into the shop, ending up at one of the windows. Leaning his elbows thoughtfully on the sill, he gazed through the streaked glass at the busy street outside. It was strange, being at the bookshop in the daytime with no other reason than that he wanted to, and no apparent time limit. 

He idly ran his hand along the windowsill. It was wide, a veritable plank of wood. More than wide enough for a skinny snake-demon to sit on. Before he could talk himself out of it, he braced his hands on it and jumped, twisting in the air to land on the sill. He nearly ran into the glass, but a quick jerk averted that possibility. 

Pulling his legs up, he turned sideways, leaning against one wall and bracing his feet on the other. He felt briefly like a protective watcher, perched on the edge of a fortress, keeping a lookout for any untoward happenings in the valley below. Then he almost laughed at himself. A demon being the protector for the living space of an angel? That was too far even for whatever they were doing now. 

To distract himself, he pulled out his phone and settled more firmly back against the wall, opening Reddit. If he focused entirely on that, he might as well be on the sofa. Nothing to see here, nope. 

He succeeded so well at pretending nothing was out of the ordinary that he forgot where he was and lost himself in the fun of riling humans up on the Internet. When Aziraphale came around a nearby bookshelf and said his name, he nearly fell off the windowsill. Luckily for his dignity, he caught himself first.

“Oh,” he said. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Aziraphale said. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, just…” Crowley trailed off, suddenly unsure how to say  _ sitting on your windowsill for no real reason. _

“That looks like a very nice place to sit,” Aziraphale said, saving Crowley from having to come up with something.

“It’s all right, I guess.”

Aziraphale stepped closer and leaned against the windowsill so that his back was brushing Crowley’s ankle. Crowley rapidly updated his opinion from  _ all right, I guess, _ to  _ perfect, I’m never moving. _ He did not, however, voice this adjustment out loud. 

Aziraphale tipped his head backward and sideways so he could look Crowley in the face. “It seems lovely to me.”

Crowley opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked from the window, to the walls on either side of his little nook, to Aziraphale leaning against his leg and smiling. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! I finished another chapter! I'm quite fond of this one.

“I was thinking,” Aziraphale said. They were sitting on the sofa, Aziraphale sitting straight at one end, Crowley at the other, his legs stretched across the length so his feet could nestle in Aziraphale’s lap. It had seemed a natural progression of things after their experiments with “I poke your leg with my toes” and “I put a hand on your foot”, and Crowley was quite enjoying it.

“Were you now?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. He put his hands on Crowley’s feet and started rubbing gently, looking almost more like he was unconsciously fidgeting than actually putting thought into what his hands were doing. “I owe you an apology.”

Crowley abruptly sat up out of his sprawl and would have pulled his feet back on instinct if Aziraphale hadn’t been holding onto them. He opened his mouth to say something, decided against it, thought of another thing to say, ended up not saying that one either, and finally settled on, “What do you mean?”

Aziraphale’s hands stopped moving and he gave Crowley a look. “I have said many unforgivable things to you, and I have not yet apologized for — any of them, really. If we are going to be successful in what we are doing now, I have to remedy that.”

Crowley pulled one of his feet back and tucked in under him, leaning against the back of the sofa so he didn’t tip over backwards. He wasn’t sure what to say. This was clearly something that Aziraphale had put thought into and had decided now was the time to discuss. Unfortunately, Crowley had done no such thing and was finding himself caught off guard.

The benefit of Aziraphale being prepared was apparently that he was continuing whether or not Crowley gave any input. 

“I have pushed you away so many times over the years that I’m frankly amazed you still seek out my company, because I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it.” Aziraphale stared straight ahead, hands pressing down on Crowley’s foot. 

Crowley had things to say to  _ that, _ but before he could get a sound out, Aziraphale kept talking. 

“I told you we were too different. I told you there was something inherently wrong with you, just for being a demon. I told you-” Aziraphale hesitated. “I told you we weren’t friends.

“You did, yeah,” Crowley said. He didn’t like hearing that last one again. It rang around in his head often enough without an audible reminder. “Look, I know I’m a demon, a blight on the world and all. I just-”  _ I just thought we both knew we were friends. _

He didn’t get to say that last bit, though — which was probably good, since it seemed to be getting caught somewhere before his vocal cords — because suddenly Aziraphale stopped looking straight ahead and started very much looking at Crowley. He looked anguished. 

“Crowley,  _ no. _ That is not- I said things that weren’t true, when I knew they would hurt you. That is the point here. You aren’t supposed to  _ agree _ with the untrue things.” He actually looked a little miffed now, like Crowley was purposely going off-script. Crowley, never having been given the script, found himself at a loss for what to say.

“I’m making a muddle of this,” Aziraphale said after a moment, dropping his eyes to his lap. “This is ridiculous. I should have-”

Crowley’s words came back online very suddenly. “No,” he said. “No, you’re fine. I think I get it.” Did he get it? “You’re saying we are- you’re saying you didn’t mean it, when you said we weren’t friends.”

“Of  _ course _ I didn’t mean it!” Aziraphale nearly snapped. He deflated again, abruptly. “Not that you would have realized that, I know, I really am so terribly sorry-”

“No,” Crowley said again. “I  _ did _ know it, have known the whole time, but…”

“And  _ that’s _ what I’m apologizing for,” Aziraphale said decisively, after they had sat in silence for several seconds. “That  _ but. _ Don’t try to pretend there isn’t something there.”

Crowley glared at Aziraphale, but couldn’t quite manage to tell him he was wrong. 

“Fine,” he said after a moment. “Fine, okay, I hear you.” He swallowed. “We’re friends.”

Aziraphale inhaled, and his hands trembled slightly. He nodded. “Yes. If you want to be. I do, very badly.”

Crowley closed his eyes briefly. “There is literally no way- yes, of course I do. Duh.”

“Oh, good.”

There was a pause.

“We going to mention the fact that the very idea seems to terrify you?” Crowley almost hadn’t wanted to bring it up, irrationally afraid that it meant Aziraphale didn’t want him around after all, and very rationally afraid of bringing up things that Aziraphale wasn’t ready to talk about.

Aziraphale’s face crumpled. “I’m  _ sorry.” _

“No, hey, that’s not my point.” Crowley sat forward and laid his hand gently on top of Aziraphale’s. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Aziraphale said miserably. “I was trying to apologize to  _ you, _ and now I’m the one falling apart.”

“I have a few ideas that might explain it,” Crowley said. “But we don’t have to talk about them now. If it helps, I do feel very well apologized to.” Which was something he was going to have to examine at some point, on his own, but that was a problem for Later Crowley.

“I’m glad,” Aziraphale said. He sighed. “I ought to-”

“You know what?” Crowley interrupted, before Aziraphale could fully figure out what he ‘ought’. “I think right now you shouldn’t do anything that makes you look like  _ that.” _

“Like what?” Aziraphale asked.

_ “That,” _ Crowley repeated, for lack of a better explanation. 

Aziraphale gave him a disapproving look.

“There we go,” Crowley said encouragingly.

The disapproving look wavered and found itself replaced by a small smile. “Oh, you.”

“Me,” Crowley agreed. He considered whether now was a good time to move away, but Aziraphale didn’t look to be in any hurry to do so, and Crowley was, surprisingly, not having much problem with either the physical or emotional vulnerability of the last few minutes.

When neither of them had spoken for a minute or so, Crowley decided the conversation was probably over and leaned back against the arm of the sofa. Aziraphale flipped his book open again, and Crowley zoned out. 

Ten minutes later, he was rapidly regretting doing so as he zoned back in to hear Aziraphale saying, “I wonder if you might be amenable to trying another hug?”

Crowley swallowed. Was he amenable? Yes. Duh. Could he do it without something going horribly wrong? No.

Well, maybe. He’d been doing pretty well over the last few weeks. They both had. And Aziraphale had  _ asked. _

“Okay,” he said. His voice was hoarse. Why was his voice hoarse?

He pulled his feet back to make room, then stared blankly as Aziraphale opened his arms in invitation. All of a sudden the sofa felt infinitely long, and the experience on offer at the other end a foreign thing he didn’t know how to deal with.

Aziraphale brought his arms down, looking slightly crestfallen. Crowley didn’t like that.

“What if you come here?” he offered suddenly. “Maybe if I do the- uh- holding.”

Aziraphale’s face cleared, and he shifted, a little hesitantly, down the sofa. “How shall I…?” he trailed off.

“Don’t ask  _ me,” _ Crowley said, and put an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. 

For a second, everything was still. 

Then Aziraphale exhaled, very softly, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to make a sound that heartfelt, and collapsed against Crowley’s side. Crowley instinctively brought his other arm up, laying it across Aziraphale’s chest, pulling them closer together, because this was  _ his _ angel, and if Aziraphale was going to make little vulnerable noises like that, Crowley was damn well going to keep him safe enough to do so. 

Aziraphale’s hands wormed behind Crowley’s lower back, pressing in, holding him in return. Far off, a forlorn alarm bell tried to make itself heard, but Crowley shoved it away. This was working. This was good. He was safe, and Aziraphale was safe, and he could sit here and hold Aziraphale in his arms, and he was going to do so, alarms be hanged. 

Aziraphale burrowed his face against Crowley’s shoulder and was still for a long time. His grip on Crowley’s waist never loosened, so Crowley continued to hold him back. The alarms wavered in and out, trying to make themselves heard, but always weakening again. 

“You hug me like you never want to let go,” Aziraphale whispered at last, so quiet that the sound barely reached Crowley’s ear, a few inches away.

_ I don’t, _ Crowley wanted to say.  _ I’d gladly never let go. I can’t believe I get to have this. You’re my favorite being in the entire universe and somehow you’re willing to spend time with me. _

But the words stuck in his throat, and a particularly brazen alarm whistled  _ not safe _ in his ear, and the thoughts stayed in his head, like they always did. Instead he squeezed a little tighter, feeling the edges of Aziraphale’s shoulders under his arms, dropped his cheek to rest in the softness of Aziraphale’s hair, and hoped that at least a little of his meaning got through.

Judging by Aziraphale’s answering squeeze, it did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you have any thoughts! I always love them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They learned, and they made mistakes, and they tested the waters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writers' block on this story abruptly ended a few days ago, so I have another chapter for you all! More communication. More growth. 
> 
> Also, I'm fairly certain this will have two more chapters (or possibly one more chapter and an epilogue). I have the next one about half-written, and vague ideas for the rest of it and what will come after.

They hugged more often after that. Aziraphale would come lean up against Crowley, or Crowley would walk by and give Aziraphale a squeeze around the shoulders, or Aziraphale would slip an arm around Crowley’s waist as they stood next to each other. Slowly, through trial and error, they learned what worked. They learned that Crowley needed to be on the outside, where he was unrestrained and could break away at any moment. They learned that Aziraphale went stiff and distant if Crowley came up from behind him. They learned that neither of them could quite manage even a half-embrace when they weren’t behind a locked door.

They didn’t talk about the fact that the longer hugs always ended when Aziraphale’s breathing went shallow and tense, or when Crowley clenched his hands so hard his fingernails started digging into his palms. They just let go, pulled back, stepped away. Then Crowley would take exaggerated deep breaths until Aziraphale shakily matched him, or Aziraphale would gently take Crowley’s hand in his, uncurling the fingers one by one, smoothing his thumb gently across the marks on Crowley’s palm. 

Sometimes, after one of those hugs, they withdrew. Crowley would leave the building entirely, go for a fast walk or a faster drive, saying  _ I’m going for a bit _ with a guarded, almost pleading look, adding  _ it’s not you, I’ll be back soon, I have to shut my brain up _ as best he could with his face. Aziraphale would suddenly remember he had work to do,  _ oh, I really ought to be working on the binding for this Austen, don’t bother going away if you don’t want, I’ll only be needing the desk area,  _ throwing himself fully into whatever book was on his desk at the moment. From the other side they both learned to let the other go, let them find center again, trust that they would return afterwards.

Other times they didn’t go far at all, Crowley to the sofa and Aziraphale to his chair, or even both of them to opposite ends of the sofa. Close enough to feel together. Far enough to maintain the faint veneer of plausible deniability that they couldn’t quite shake the need for. 

They learned, and they made mistakes, and they tested the waters. It was a dance, almost, circling in, weaving back out, not quite as far as before. They didn’t talk about it much. The balance felt too fragile, too close to breaking, even though it wasn’t, really. They only brushed fingers, feet, elbows, gave fleeting hugs, looked at each other and tried to express it that way. 

For now, it was enough. 

~

A duck quacked. 

A human, distracted by their phone, ended up on a collision course with Crowley, who steadfastly didn’t step to the side. Aziraphale made a chastising noise, which caused the human to look up just in time to jump out of the way. Crowley smirked. 

“You might have moved,” Aziraphale said reproachfully.

“Might have,” Crowley agreed. 

Aziraphale sighed, eyes flicking around the greenery of the park, and kept walking. 

Crowley, feeling somewhat daring, veered closer to the angel. 

Aziraphale didn’t react.

Daring level increased a notch, Crowley reached out and caught Aziraphale’s hand where it hung by his side. 

Aziraphale tensed.

Crowley dropped his hand and, after a moment, widened the gap between them once more. It had been worth a try.

~

“It’s not fair,” Aziraphale announced from his usual seat a few feet across the room.

Crowley blinked, feeling something apprehensive settle in his stomach. 

“To you, I mean.” Aziraphale glared pensively at the floor. 

“What isn’t fair?” Crowley asked warily. 

“Me,” Aziraphale said, and took another drink of wine.

Crowley wasn’t sure exactly  _ what _ was wrong with that sentence, but he was certain that something was. “You’re great to me,” he retorted, belatedly realizing that he was possibly a little bit drunk.

“No,” Aziraphale said sadly. “‘M not.” He seemed to shake himself. “What was it you said that one time?”

“I’ve said lots of things. Been around a while.”

“No, no, that one thing. About...about me being te- terry- scared of saying you’re my friend.”

“Oh.” Crowley thought. “Jus’ that I get it, I think. It’s okay.”

“No!” Aziraphale said again, more forcefully. “Y’said you knew why. Tell me why.”

“I think,” Crowley said reluctantly, “that we shouldn’t try to figure this out while we’re drunk.”

Aziraphale clutched his glass. “I don’t think I can talk about it sober.”

“You can,” Crowley said with conviction. “Or we put it off again. I have to be able to think properly, that’s all.”

There was a long silence.

“Oh, very well,” Aziraphale said, sounding just this side of petulant.

They sobered up.

Crowley marshalled his thoughts into some kind of order. “It’s not that you’re embarrassed to be seen with me, really, is it.” He’d done a lot of thinking on the topic, and he was pretty sure he was right on this front. If Aziraphale disagreed he might just have to go off and kick himself for a couple of years. 

“No,” Aziraphale said immediately. “Never.”

“See?” Crowley asked, ignoring the rush of relief at Aziraphale’s words. “I think it’s that you had to watch out for so long, make sure you weren’t going to get in trouble for-”  _ fraternizing- _ “spending time with a demon, that now you can’t stop doing it.”

“That’s foolish,” Aziraphale said. “I ought to be over it. I-” he hesitated, then said, firmly, “I  _ want _ to spend time with you.”

“No reason you should be over it,” Crowley countered. “You had to watch your back for a long time. It’s hardly been any time at all since that changed.”

“I think,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, “that I’m also still afraid of what might happen to  _ you _ if I let myself get too close.”

Crowley opened his mouth to say something incredulous, ran his memory rapidly through several thousand years worth of interactions, and closed it again. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale continued, still in that thoughtful tone. “I’ve known for a long time that your s- that Hell wouldn’t take too kindly to you being around me.”

“I can take care of myself,” Crowley mumbled.

“Oh, certainly,” Aziraphale agreed. He looked like he was going to say something more on the topic, but all that came out was silence. 

“Point is,” Crowley said finally, “you’re allowed to do what you want, but you’re also allowed to not do things that upset you.”

“I  _ want _ to do everything,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I want to hug you, and sit near you, and hold your hand when we go to the park, and tell you-” he hesitated- “tell you certain things, but sometimes it hits me wrong and I just…”

“Can’t,” Crowley finished. “I know.” He did know.

“You do,” Aziraphale agreed. “I’m so grateful for that. Though I’m also not, because I want you to be happy.”

“I  _ am _ happy.”

“So am I. And yet here we are.”

“Are you insinuating that I have the same-”  _ problems, _ no, not problems, not when he was talking about Aziraphale- “things that we’re talking about with you?” He was, Crowley knew, and rightly. 

“You nearly had a panic attack when I touched your ankle last month,” Aziraphale pointed out gently. 

Crowley sighed deeply. “Okay, so we’ve both spent longer than humans have had the wheel looking over our shoulders every four seconds and wondering if each moment of freedom was our last. That your point?”

“Effectively, yes.”

“And it’s okay if, even if you know you don’t have to do that anymore, you still do it. ‘S like an automatic security system.”

“The same goes for you, remember.”

Crowley made a grumbly noise. 

Aziraphale pushed himself out of the chair and settled on the other end of the sofa. Crowley pulled his feet back and tucked them under him, feeling the way the springs leaned and adjusted to support the added person with a strange sort of affection. It was a nice way to feel like Aziraphale was close without actually being right up next to each other.

“I mean it, you know,” Aziraphale said, after the silence had stretched on for several minutes. 

“I know,” Crowley said. He stretched his arm even more languidly across the arm of the sofa and added, “You know when you said you wanted to tell me ‘certain things’?”

Aziraphale nodded, a trifle hesitantly.

“Just- wanted to say I think I know what you mean. And...same to you.”

Aziraphale turned fully towards him now, and the expression on his face was soft, and nervous, and Crowley thought he’d never seen a face he liked more. 

“That’s good,” Aziraphale said quietly. He smiled a little more. “It’s good to hear.”

Crowley shrugged, and stretched, and Aziraphale shifted too, settling more comfortably into his cushion.

The sofa moved under them, creaking and wobbling and making it abundantly clear that it now held two beings, and this was good.

~

Two weeks later, when Aziraphale reached out and gently grasped Crowley’s fingers as they walked through the park, Crowley slid their hands closer together and hung on.

Aziraphale held back.

A duck quacked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments make my day.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walking into the bookshop, Crowley was greeted by the sight of an open bag on the desk and Aziraphale neatly packing books into it. He wandered over and gave Aziraphale a quizzical look.
> 
> “I have to go to Italy,” Aziraphale said, in apparent explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you all! This is looking like the last chapter-chapter, and then there will be an epilogue hopefully sometime this week. Thanks for following along!

Walking into the bookshop, Crowley was greeted by the sight of an open bag on the desk and Aziraphale neatly packing books into it. He wandered over and gave Aziraphale a quizzical look.

“I have to go to Italy,” Aziraphale said, in apparent explanation.

“Oh?” As far as Crowley knew, neither of them had been out of London since the world didn’t end. It was odd to be reminded of how much planet there was outside of their little corner of Europe. 

“Yes.” Aziraphale nudged one more book into the bag and straightened up. “I was assigned to keep an eye on a woman there back in- oh, I don’t know, the nineteen-thirties, and she’s dying now, so I’m going to check in one more time, see what I can do for her.”

Crowley leaned on the edge of the desk and eyed him. He didn’t  _ think _ Aziraphale was suddenly going back to doing Heaven’s bidding, but on the off-chance he was, Crowley didn’t want to drive him away entirely by saying the wrong thing.

Aziraphale’s face softened. “She’s a good person. I’m doing it for her, Crowley. Nothing else.”

Crowley relaxed a little, but he stayed silent.

Aziraphale reached out and took Crowley’s hand loosely in his. “I’ll be back in a few weeks at most.”

That wasn’t really what Crowley was worried about. He liked being around Aziraphale, sought it out even, but a few weeks without was hardly a problem. He squeezed Aziraphale’s fingers. “Just...no one told you to do this? Nothing from, you know…” he waved vaguely upwards.

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said firmly. “Only me, and a human who deserves what peace I can give her.”

“Okay,” Crowley said. He considered whether to point out that Aziraphale didn’t  _ need _ to take a bag with him when he traveled, and decided not to. “When are you going?”

“Any time, really.” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley’s watch. “There’s no specific timeframe. I thought we might go to dinner first, though.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I think we should definitely do that.”

“Lovely!” Aziraphale beamed. 

The bag closed itself and sat patiently on the desk.

~

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said after they’d ordered appetizers.

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale fidgeted with his ring. “I know we’re quite used to one or the other of us going off for who knows how long, and that’s quite all right with me. But in light of recent events, I thought I’d leave you this.” He passed Crowley a piece of paper.

Crowley frowned at it. “An address?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, a little quickly. “I expect I’ll be spending most of my time there, and otherwise I’ll be somewhere around the city. Just in case.”

Aziraphale didn’t specify what it was in case  _ of,  _ but Crowley found he did understand. He was Aziraphale’s backup. Leaving his home turf for the first time since his entire command structure had crumbled, Aziraphale was throwing his lot in with Crowley.

“In case I need to stage a daring rescue?” he asked, because he was apparently incapable of saying serious things out loud.

“I would prefer that it were more effective than daring, but yes.” Aziraphale took a sip of wine. “We said  _ our side. _ My old side always knew where I was when I went traveling, and...”  _ You’re my side now _ floated unspoken through the air.

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, thoroughly at a loss for words. The slip of paper was growing soft between his fingertips. He tucked it in his jacket. 

“Does that make sense to you?” Aziraphale asked, an edge of plaintiveness creeping into his tone.

“Yeah,” Crowley said through an oddly tight throat. “Yeah, seems smart.”

“Oh, good,” Aziraphale smiled. “Now, what do you think about the roast lamb?”

Crowley, who had had his fill of unexpectedly emotional moments for the evening, was all too happy to leap onto the familiar topic of food.

~

Crowley had thought it would be strange to have Aziraphale gone after over two months of seeing each other most days, but instead it felt comfortably — almost worryingly — normal. It was like muscle memory, only for his routine, rather than his limbs. He gave the plants some extra attention, drove around the city sowing low-level discord, read up on the most outrageous political news bits he could find, all of his most standard things. 

Nearly a week passed without his conscious notice. When he did notice, he was at first concerned. It didn’t seem like a good thing, to have fallen so thoroughly back into old habits after all the work he’d been putting into making new ones. In a bid to break out again, he drove to the bookshop and went inside. 

It was quiet, and dim, and decidedly devoid of Aziraphale. He had known it would be, but it still made something anxious awaken in his chest. He wasn’t often in the bookshop without Aziraphale, and the last time things had been very, very wrong, and-

But no, the shop was fine, and he knew exactly where Aziraphale was, and there was nothing to be lost if someone showed up to find him there. He’d never stayed long on past visits like this, something about the shop being empty making it seem all the more likely that some angel from Heaven was going to drop by and smite him for daring to touch an angel’s territory, or, worse, somehow link his presence to Aziraphale and get him in trouble too. 

Now, though, he didn’t have to worry about that. If an unwelcome angel showed up, he’d stand his ground — or possibly dart out the back, depending on what his self-preservation instincts were saying — and figure it out from there.

He flopped on the sofa, looping one arm around the end cushion and closing his eyes. He’d been doing an excellent job of keeping busy. He’d earned a nap.

~

Aziraphale glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then opened the door to the house and stepped out into the street. Halfway down the block, he dropped the anti-notice illusion and continued on to the nice little cafe he’d discovered a week or so back. 

Tea in hand, he settled at a table near the window with a small sigh. Keeping an eye on humans as they neared the ends of their lives was tiring. He wanted to do well by them, and it always required more focus than he expected. It seemed like the kind of thing one would learn after thousands of years, but somehow it always managed to surprise him. 

It was good to travel again, though. Good to see somewhere that wasn’t London, with different weather and culture and scenery. And it was good to be working again, as something other than a secondhand bookseller. He didn’t want to get assignments from Heaven anymore, that he was fairly sure of by now, but traveling around the human world with the express purpose of helping humans was settling him in the way of so many familiar things. The last few months had been fascinating and exciting and wonderful. This, though? This was routine, and Aziraphale liked routine.

He took another sip of tea and listened to the burble of Italian all around him.

~

Aziraphale was home. Crowley noticed as soon as it happened. He couldn’t say exactly  _ how _ he knew, it being one of those things that he had spent so long studiously ignoring that it was so far down the queue of things to analyze that it might never come to the top, but he knew. 

He propped his feet up on his desk and flicked at the screen of his phone like the knowledge of Aziraphale’s return was a notification that he could put aside for later. He’d been deep in Reddit, and he could continue exploring those uncharted waters for a little longer.

Forty-seven minutes later, the phone rang. Internet argument-mongering thwarted by the full-screen notification, he answered it.

_ “Hello, Crowley, it’s me.” _

“I know it’s you,” Crowley grouched automatically.

_ “You never know with these things,” _ Aziraphale said, so sniffily that Crowley almost smiled affectionately right then and there.

“How was Italy?” he asked, to avoid such an outcome.

_ “Oh, very lovely.” _ A sigh.  _ “It’s always hard to see one who you’ve paid particular attention to pass on.” _

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed. 

There was a moment of silence.

_ “Would you like to come over?” _

He would, obviously. And yet his brain decided to first debate whether he  _ should. _ He smacked it. Aziraphale invited him. He wanted to go. That was all he had to consider.

“Yeah, sure.” Now he did smile, a little bit. “Be there in a few.”

_ “Don’t drive too-” _

Crowley hung up. No time for phone calls. He had somewhere to get to.

~

The shop bell rang cheerily as Crowley pushed the door — CLOSED sign and all — open and entered. Objectively, the room beyond wasn’t particularly different from the last time he’d been there. Dusty and dim and smelling of paper. Still, there was a  _ feeling _ over the space that wasn’t there when its owner was gone. 

And, obviously, there was an angel there now. He was just turning towards Crowley, a familiar, wonderful smile on his face. Crowley strode across the distance between them, suddenly very sure that what he wanted to do right now was hug Aziraphale, and determined to make it a reality. 

Aziraphale had apparently come to a similar conclusion, because by the time Crowley reached him, the angel was already reaching out, arms catching Crowley around the waist as Crowley slid his own around Aziraphale’s shoulders, both of them tightening their grip until the space between them was all but completely gone. Aziraphale sighed softly and shuffled a half-inch closer, pressing his cheek against Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley rested his own head on Aziraphale’s and let out a sigh of his own. 

_ I missed you, _ Crowley wanted to say.  _ I missed you, and I didn’t, and I’m still processing both of those things. _

The words stayed unspoken, as they were wont to do, and if Aziraphale was thinking anything, he didn’t share. He did straighten slightly, arms moving up Crowley’s back, but neither of them stepped away that moment, or the next, or the next. Crowley was just thinking he might be happy to stay there all day when Aziraphale moved, letting go of Crowley and stepping back, catching one of Crowley’s hands in both of his and stilling the trembling there...

Oh. Crowley’s hands were shaking. Lovely. Just when he wanted to stand and hug Aziraphale forever, his subconscious had to go and sabotage it. 

“Hi,” Aziraphale murmured, still with the soft smile. 

Well, it wasn’t like he had control over his subconscious, anyway. That was kind of the point. And anyway, Aziraphale had caught the signs and changed tacks, was even now standing there, holding Crowley’s hand, and Crowley didn’t want to run. He wanted to stay here, and hear about Aziraphale’s trip, and drink some wine, and complain about something unimportant. He wanted to take the old and familiar and weave it in with the new and wonderful. 

He wanted, and he could have it, if he reached out and took the chance.

“Hi,” said Crowley, and he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are very welcome!


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The room was still. He could hear the faint sound of electricity from the lights, the creak of the sofa as Aziraphale shifted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've come to the final installment! Thank you all for the encouragement along the way - this story might not have gotten finished without it, and it definitely wouldn't be finished yet. It's been wonderful to know that there are other people excited to see what happens in this. 
> 
> Here's some fluff to finish off with.

“Aziraphale, stop fussing with that thing and come over here.” Crowley was trying to sound annoyed, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t working. 

Aziraphale gave the painting one last twitch — to the right, this time — and stepped back. “Yes, I think that will do.”

“It will,” Crowley said, giving the painting a cursory glance. 

“I just want it to look nice,” Aziraphale protested, but he joined Crowley on the sofa. 

Crowley turned off his phone and reached for Aziraphale instead. “Nice, huh?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and leaned into Crowley’s chest. He gave no other answer. 

Crowley laughed and leaned back against the arm of the sofa, stretching his legs along its length. Aziraphale settled in between them with a pleased noise, shifting down until he could lay his head on Crowley’s chest. Crowley let his arms rest loosely on Aziraphale’s back and looked around at this place, this new place, one that they had picked out and chosen to be. 

Even with the light of the lamps, the windows were dark enough to remind them that they were outside the city now, away from the perpetual light and movement there. Another change. Another, Crowley thought, good change.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said finally. His hands were picking absently at the hem of Crowley’s shirt. 

Crowley looked down. “Yeah?”

“I just thought...I care about you very much, you know?”

Crowley’s hands involuntarily tightened on Aziraphale’s back. Words were not, and never had been, their forte. There was something terrifying and fascinating about hearing Aziraphale say them now. 

“Yeah,” he managed. 

Aziraphale’s fingers rhythmically worried at the fabric. “It seemed like a good time to say so. That’s all.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said again. “I care about you too.” 

Aziraphale’s hands stilled, clenching the edge of Crowley’s shirt tight between them. Then he looked up, into Crowley’s face, and smiled. “I’m glad.”

Crowley smoothed a hand over Aziraphale’s back, trying to stop his heart pounding. It didn’t quite work. He withdrew his hands entirely.

Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s shirt and sat up. “Darling? Are you all right?”

Crowley nodded and took a deep breath. Looked at Aziraphale. Around the room. Back to Aziraphale. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just need a minute.”

“Do you need to get up and move around?”

Crowley considered this. Surprisingly, it seemed like more trouble than it was worth. He shook his head and closed his eyes instead, pulling his legs close to his chest.

The room was still. He could hear the faint sound of electricity from the lights, the creak of the sofa as Aziraphale shifted. Aziraphale’s breathing. His own breathing. He could feel the unprotesting springs of the old sofa supporting his weight, the warm air of a well-heated house. 

He opened his eyes. Aziraphale was watching him.

Crowley extended a hand into the space between them, and Aziraphale took it. His hand was warm, too, and soft, and familiar.

“You okay?” he asked, feeling the steadiness of Aziraphale’s fingers flow between them.

“I am,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley sighed and tipped his head back and forth, stretching his neck. 

Several minutes passed. Silent. Comfortable. Calming.

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “Could you...hug me?”

Aziraphale was surprised, he could tell. Crowley was a little surprised himself. He still wasn’t so good at  _ being _ hugged. 

He didn’t take back the question.

“Of course,” Aziraphale said after a moment. He reached out and gathered Crowley to his side. Crowley sighed and leaned almost automatically into the touch, one arm going around Aziraphale’s upper back, the other one draping over the angel’s shoulder. They sat there, Aziraphale’s hand tracing gentle circles on Crowley’s back. 

After a few minutes Aziraphale turned them sideways and reclined on the arm of the sofa so that they were nearly lying down, facing each other. Crowley tangled their legs together, then loosened his hold on Aziraphale slightly so that he could lie on his back, one shoulder pressed against Aziraphale, the other out against the empty air of the rest of the room. Close to Aziraphale, but not trapped. In sight of Aziraphale, but not out of sight of the rest of the room. Just in between enough that he could stay there, relax into this place, this company, this everything.

“It really is a lovely place,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley looked around the small, comfortably-lit room. “Yeah. It is.”

They didn’t say anything more. Perhaps they were overwhelmed by thoughts — logistical ones, or emotional, or mundane. Perhaps they were simply too comfortable to go to the trouble of speaking.

Then, in the quiet of that space, their space, a new space for them and them alone, there floated the sound of Aziraphale humming.

After a moment, Crowley joined in.

_ Ah, home _

_ Let me come home _

_ Home is wherever I’m with you _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again! Do comment if you have anything to say; it makes me very happy! :)


End file.
